


Before and After

by ShebaRen



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Nogitsune, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 10:50:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12769446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShebaRen/pseuds/ShebaRen
Summary: There’s school and lacrosse and bullies and at least there’s fun and life and through it’s not perfect, it’s the best his life has been for a long while, because he is slowly becoming friends with Lydia Martin and Scott’s a werewolf (which he personally still thinks is awesome). Life threatening situations and bruises aside, he has fun. He has a purpose .And then the Nogitsune possessed him.





	Before and After

**Author's Note:**

> Additional Warning: Very slight ableist language/internalized ableism.

There is Before and After.

 

Before the Nogitsune, there’s research binges.

 

All nighters on the internet, chasing some obscure information about the latest monster of the week, and late evenings at the loft together with Peter, working through the old tomes.

 

There’s helping his pack bring down the newest threat, getting chased through the woods, rescuing his friends from certain death, getting almost mauled by monsters…

 

There’s school and lacrosse and bullies and at least there’s fun and _life_ and through it’s not perfect, it’s the best his life has been for a long while, because he is slowly becoming friends with _Lydia Martin_ and Scott’s a werewolf (which he personally still thinks is awesome). Life threatening situations and bruises aside, he has fun. He has a _purpose_.

 

And then the Nogitsune possessed him.

 

After, there’s letters that won’t make sense, no matter how hard he tries to sound them out. There’s blank spaces in his brain where the Nogitsune festered and memories should be.

 

( _Retard._ )

 

There’s a pack who won’t tell him when a new threat has come into town. Who tells him _You should rest, Stiles. Give it time, Stiles. We want to protect you Stiles. Better not let anything like that happen again -_

 

Who won’t tell him anything anymore. ( _Useless._ )

 

There’s nightmares that won’t let him sleep and a father that has another thing wearing down on him, who can’t look him in the eye anymore. Nervous breakdowns and the compulsive need to check if he’s still himself, counting his fingers, seeing his hands -

 

After, there is blood on his hands. ( _Murderer_ . _A voice whispers in his ear. It sounds like Allison._ )

 

He’s sitting in his room in the dark, when there is a scritching sound at his window.

 

His brain feels sluggish, his limbs like lead. He’s tired, hasn’t slept for the last two nights. The thought of any sort of social interaction when he feels like this makes him want to curl up, but the blanket feels too heavy for him to move, so he doesn’t.  

 

Instead, Stiles ponders who might want to see him. He knows he looks like death warmed over, but he’s long since given up caring because there’s no one who sees him like this besides his dad, anyway.

 

( _You don’t have to come_ , The voicemail from Scott says when there is another pack meeting.) ( _You don’t belong with them anymore, Allison whispers._ )

 

At least until now. Whichever werewolf is on his windowsill, they are not discouraged by his apparent lack of interest. Quite the opposite. The scritching sounds again. It irritates him enough that he’s stirring with a frown.

 

“Go away.”, Stiles rasps. The words sting in his throat and absently he wonders when was the last time he had something to drink.

 

The wolf at the window takes it as an invitation and slides it open. If Stiles had enough energy, he would have scowled. Instead he just blinks tiredly at the ceiling, not even bothering to look who has entered the room. His eyelids feel like sandpaper.

 

“There you are.” A voice states softly. Stiles closes his eyes. He knows that voice. He feels the mattress dip under the weight of the man as he sits down. A hand touches his head, gliding through his hair uncaring of it’s unkempt state. It feels warm, a nice contrast to the cold that is seeping through his body.

 

A sigh. “And there I was thinking we were going along just fine. Instead you are punishing me; Leaving me alone to deal with a pack of ungrateful teenagers. Nobody appreciates my superior intellect.”  

 

Stiles opens his eyes to look at the werewolf. Peter is looking back, almost pouting at him. The sight is so ridiculous Stiles has to smile. Its barely a smile, a minimal twitch of the corners of his mouth, but Peter looks satisfied.

 

Stiles gives up trying to ignore the wolf. It’s clear that Peter won’t leave him alone. “What do you want?”, he croaks.

 

Peter tsks and takes his hand from Stiles’ head to reach for his bedside table where his Dad had deposited a few bottles of water and snacks in the hope that Stiles would eat. The spot where his hand had been feels cold. He uncaps a bottle and helps Stiles to sit up so he can drink.

 

“People are going missing and everything is pointing towards another supernatural disaster happening in town. We narrowed it down to magic, but I’ve got nothing and Deaton is his usual helpful self.” He tells him, looking as if the admittance cost him. “I’ve brought everything in the hopes that you find something i might have overlooked.” He motions towards a bag and Stiles can see it’s full of ancient looking books and papers.

 

Stiles laughs, but it’s a bitter one. “Well, I won’t be much help. Try Deaton again.” He doesn’t look at the books again.

 

Peter’s gaze is sharp. “Don’t sell yourself short. I’m not saying that the possession left you without marks, but I won’t believe that it has left you without you ability to think.”

 

And that’s - that’s too much. White hot rage rushes through him and he snarls at the older werewolf. “What’s my ability to think when I can’t even read what’s in these books?!?”, he shouts, pushing his chest, trying to dislodge Peter from his bed. Warm hands close around his wrists. Peter looks surprised at his outburst. “Stiles -”,  he tries.

 

“No! It’s useless. _I’m_ useless. The nogitsune took over and now I’m broken!” He tugs at his wrists, but Peter won’t budge and the last words escape him with a sob. All energy spent he slumps against the solid surface that is Peter’s chest. Only then does the man release his wrists and gathers him in a comforting embrace.

 

Neither of them says anything for the next few minutes. Instead, Peter hums a comforting note while they both wait for Stiles tears to subside.

 

“Sorry,” Stiles mumbles sometime later, though he doesn’t move from his current spot.

 

“Don’t apologize for something like that, darling.”

 

The arms holding Stiles squeeze tightly for a second before releasing him. Not completely though: One hand remains slung low around his hip, anchoring him. The other does something he can’t see, but based on the noises he hears he’d be guessing that Peter was rummaging through his bag. He tenses. Waits for Peter to start up again, to argue with him.

 

Instead the werewolf nudges him until they’re both laying on the bed, Peter propped up against the headboard and Stiles snugly against his side. His head is pillowed on Peter’s stomach and he can see the book he’s holding. He closes his eyes.

 

“Peter…” he starts.

 

“Hush now,” Peter tells him and his left arm comes to rest on Stiles back. Then he begins to read: “Witnesses who had allegedly encountered the creature all reported that they had seen a misshapen womanly figure that is said to bewitch...”

 

And as a warmth spread through his chest, Stiles sighs out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he listens to Peter’s voice, because yes. This. This he could do. Peter was right.

 

After everything, he’s still not broken.


End file.
